


When Hope Has Abandoned Me

by thenewgirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chant of Light, F/M, Post-In Your Heart Shall Burn, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenewgirl/pseuds/thenewgirl
Summary: What Cullen was doing while Aryana was screaming defiance at Corypheus.  Or:  Aryana, presumed dead in the avalanche that buried Haven, turns up at the Inquisition's camp.





	When Hope Has Abandoned Me

Cullen signaled the waiting archer the moment he spotted the end of the harried mob that had escaped Haven. As the flaming arrow was loosed, arcing up into the night, he deliberately turned his focus to establishing some sort of order. They had saved more—more lives, more supplies, more of _everything_ —than he had dreamed possible. There was much to be done. Roll call, find out who had fallen and who was left to protect the survivors. Set up a guard rotation; the camp might be temporary, but it would still need defended. Even if this Old One—

The thunder of a mountain’s worth of snow tumbling down silenced everyone for a few heartbeats. He closed his eyes. She had done it. And she was gone.

And there was no time to dwell on that just now.

He forced himself to concentrate on the terrain, assessing potential approaches and determining what fortifications might be necessary. Or possible. Or worth erecting at all. Other concerns crowded in, and he welcomed them. Had Rylen made it? He scanned the milling crowd for his second and found the man already making his way around the fringe. The rest of the war council—Cassandra had stayed with Aryana. He shied away from the thought of losing both of them, the woman he was beginning to love and the woman who had become all but a third sister to him, in one blow. Leliana was not immediately visible, but he was certain that he’d seen her slip out of the chantry ahead of him. Josephine. Where was Josephine? There, by the fire. Rumpled, tired, but she’d even brought her damned notes with her.

Still, there was only so much that he could occupy himself with. At last he found himself at the edge of the camp, staring back in the direction of what had once been Haven. His own words echoed back at him from the dark and the blowing snow. _If we are to have a chance, if_ you _are to have a chance—let that thing hear you._ It was the last thing he’d said to her. Not a goodbye, not thanks, not an expression of what she had meant to him—an order, Commander to soldier. But then she was a soldier, and had been for nearly as long as he. She would have understood. Wouldn’t she? Or was he only trying to comfort himself?

The watch saluted. “Looks like stragglers coming in, Ser,” she reported. “Three of ‘em.” Cullen nodded acknowledgment. He knew, already, who would be catching them up. And who wouldn’t. At least it was three; that meant everyone else had gotten out. That was something.

Cassandra trudged up to him and stood there, just looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last, as Solas and Varric plodded past them. She did not follow, but stayed at his side. “I know she… meant a great deal to you.” He didn’t respond. What could he say that Cassandra didn’t already know?

He spotted the lone figure in the distance just as the watch announced, “One more, Ser.” One more. Who? Except for the Herald’s small squad, they hadn’t left anyone behind who could still draw breath. The shadowy shape wove and stumbled as it made its way toward them. Each movement spoke of exhaustion, even at a distance. A quick exchange of glances with Cassandra sent him walking cautiously out toward the vague shape. Perhaps this was some poor soul unconnected with the Inquisition, lost and desperate for a fire to warm themselves by. Perhaps they’d missed someone after all, or someone had—

A sharp cry of pain reached his ears on the wind. The shadowy figure ahead fell to its knees, and then tumbled over to lie prone. And, as one hand fell away from the torso, a virulent green light flared around it.

Around _her_.

Cullen dropped all caution and ran. _Yes._ Now that there was light, he could see the familiar black and green prowler’s coat, the daggers on her back, the short-cropped auburn hair turned an odd shade by the illumination from the mark on her hand. In another instant he was dropping to the ground beside Aryana, already shrugging off his fur-mantled coat.

“It’s her!” he called out.

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra was not far behind him, a pair of guards following her.

Aryana seemed nearly as cold as the new-fallen snow into which she had collapsed, she was battered and bruised and her shoulder looked wrong even under the leather armor, but she was _alive_. He wrapped her carefully in his coat. “We must take her to Mother Giselle.” He gathered the limp form into his arms, cradling her against his chest. He tested his balance and then stood slowly.

Cassandra stopped him just at the outer boundary of the camp. “This is truly a miracle,” she told him in an undertone. “Josephine will have my head if we don’t make a proper show of it.” She arranged the Herald’s hands precisely, so that the mark was exposed and could not be missed. “There. I believe that should do.”

She preceded him into the camp proper, clearing a path to the fireside. The crowd, still somewhat stunned from the ordeal, parted easily for her. Silence fell and all eyes turned to them as word spread through the camp. Space was quickly made and a cot produced. Mother Giselle appeared just as he laid Aryana down on it, careful not to jostle the dislocated shoulder any more than he had to.

“Andraste preserve us all,” the cleric whispered. “She lives.”

Cassandra took that as her cue. “She lives!” she cried out, turning to the crowd. “The Herald _lives_!”

For his part, Cullen bowed his head and murmured a prayer under his breath. “ _In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains. I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness, the echo of Your voice…_ ”


End file.
